Page 34 of The Happy Family

This is a terminally ill patient who now looks to others for support.

‘Please can you give us some privacy?’ I ask the police officer who has escorted me every step of the way since I left my cell early this morning and was transported here. I get that she has to keep a close watch on me in case I try and escape, but I’m not going to do that. I simply want to spend some time with my mother, time that I have so far been robbed of by the person who framed me and put me in prison.

‘I’ll be right outside the door,’ the officer tells me, or possibly warns me, so that I know she won’t be far if I do try anything that I shouldn’t. The only thing I’m going to try is to wake up my mum so I can hopefully talk to her.

As she leaves the room, I approach the bed, looking at my mother’s closed eyes and wondering if she is actually sleeping restfully or just drowning in a cocktail of drugs given to her to keep her pain at bay. I take a seat in the chair beside the bed and then reach out for the patient’s hand, instantly feeling how frail and fragile it is, and the lightweight nature of the hand that once cared for me instantly brings tears to my eyes.

‘Oh, Mum,’ I say, wiping my eyes with my free hand whilst feeling utterly useless in the face of the disease that is cruelly taking her from me.

‘Gemma? Is that you?’

I hear the faint voice and realise my mum is awake. Her eyes are now open and she is looking right at me, a sight that only makes my eyes cloud over with tears even more.

‘Mum, I’m here,’ I say, reassuring her. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m tired.’

‘That’s okay. You just need to rest.’

‘Who is that woman? Is she with you?’ she asks me then, and I realise she is referring to the police officer lingering outside in the corridor. She is currently looking in through the window at us, as if I cannot be trusted to sit in here as I said I was going to. I feel like making a rude gesture to her, but decide against it, not because it’s the sensible option, but because even at my age, I don’t want my mum to see me swear.

‘She’s from the prison,’ I say. ‘She’ll be taking me back there after our visit is over.’

‘You’re still in prison?’ Mum asks, uncertainty in her voice, and I realise she could be losing her sense of time and reality.

‘Yes, but I’ll be out soon,’ I say, telling a lie that I think is acceptable in the circumstances. ‘And when I am, we can go for lunch. Would you like that?’

‘That would be lovely.’

‘Okay, then you just need to hang on here and make sure you get better, okay?’ I say, battling more tears because I know my mum getting better is not possible, but I’m trying to stay positive for both of our sakes.

‘I’m not sure I will get better, darling,’ Mum says then.

‘Don’t say that, Mum,’ I say, wiping my tears again.

‘You need to find yourself a good man,’ Mum urges me. ‘Start a family of your own. Promise me you will. Promise me you won’t be lonely when I’m gone.’

‘I won’t be,’ I say, even if the reality is that I feel lonelier than I ever have before.

‘Whatever happened to that man you worked with?’ Mum asks me. ‘The one you said was very handsome and you thought he liked you too?’

She is referring to Reid. There was a time when I was genuinely hopeful that something might happen between us beyond the racy messages that we had been sending one another while he was still married to Sadie. I foolishly told my mother about him, if only because she was always asking me if I was dating anybody, but it feels even more foolish now, considering it is my involvement with Reid that has messed my life up so spectacularly.

‘Nothing happened there, Mum,’ I say, which is the simplest way of answering that question. Her illness had already begun to take hold by the time I was arrested and sent to prison, so I have been able to spare her all the details of what happened. All she knew was that I was going away for a while, and now, it seems she can hardly even remember that.

‘That is a shame,’ Mum says. ‘Don’t give up on him. Always give love a chance. Just like me and your father did.’

The reference to my late father doesn’t do anything to help my tears and I expect to spend the rest of this visit sobbing. Then I remember that the officer I was with kindly allowed me to pick up some snacks from the canteen on the way here, strictly for the patient to enjoy, so I reach for those now and open them up. But when I offer them to Mum, despite her taking one, it becomes clear she doesn’t have the strength or appetite to eat anything.

My dear mother is literally wasting away before my eyes, and I can see that she doesn’t have long left. This is most likely going to be the last time I am ever with her, and while I might be allowed to attend her funeral, with a police escort, of course, this will be the final time I get to look into her eyes and say everything I need to say to her.

‘I love you, Mum,’ I tell her, meaning every word of it, and like most people who end up in this situation, I imagine they wish they had said it more over the years.

‘I love you too, darling,’ Mum replies, and I gently rest my head on her shoulder and just lie there, trying to savour every second of this visit that should be something I get to do tomorrow and the next day, but cannot.

Because of Luna.

She has robbed me of something I cannot get back.